A Death Scythe In A Pear Tree
by Lisp
Summary: "On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Four weapons sighing, three meisters fighting, two Maka-Chops and a car trip on Christmas Eve." – In which Black*Star sings Christmas carols, Kid accidentally tells Patti that Santa Claus isn't real and Soul weighs the pros and cons of killing six people at once in the middle of a road-trip. SoMa.


**_A/N: _**_I do not own Soul Eater or any brands and/or carols that are mentioned. Rated T for language. Set after the manga ending (spoilers). _

_So the seating may get confusing at the start. It's an SUV; the 7-seater ones with two front seats, the three middle, and then two small ones at the back. Tsubaki's driving, Black*Star's in the front seat, Soul, Maka and Kid are in the middle, and Liz and Patti are at the back. _

_Merry (late) Christmas!_

_Enjoy._

* * *

**A Death Scythe In A Pear Tree  
**by Lisp.

"_On the tenth day of Christmas, the Death God gave to me, ten lords a' leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids a' milking, seven swans a' swimming, six geese a' laying, five golden rings –"_

" . . . Enough! I can't take it anymore! You won't be getting anything but a Death-damned _kick in the balls_ for Christmas unless you shut it, right now!"

"Hey, Liz, it's Christmas Eve! Where's your Christmas spirit? Geez, is this how everyone gets when they're old? All crotchety and wanting to crush everyone else's youth?"

"Call me old one more time, you little pipsqueak, and –"

"Okay. You're _old._"

"That's it. Tsubaki, _pull over._"

"Now, Liz, it's not wise to resort to violence in such a small and inhabited space."

"Kiddo! You're meant to be on Liz's side, not Black*Star's!"

"Patti, I'm not picking a side, I'm stating a fact."

" . . . Will you guys keep it down? I'm trying to _read._"

"Oh, what's wrong, is your book talking to you? Hah! Maybe then you'll have some friends!"

"Black*Star, don't say things like that to Maka, we're all her friend!"

"Tsubaki, you're on _my_ side, remember?"

"See? _Tsubaki_ is on Black*Star's side, because they're partners! Why aren't _you_ backing me up?"

"As I just told Patti, it's not a matter of sides."

"Black*Star, I'm going to Chop you into next year if you do not turn around in your seat, face the front, and shut up right now."

"Hey, that's gang-up! You can't do that!"

"Black*Star, stop swinging your fists, I'm trying to drive!"

_It takes approximately thirteen hours and forty-two minutes to drive between Vail Ski Resort and Death City, Nevada._

"Sorry Tsubaki – oh, look, did I get you in the face by accident, Kid?"

"_Black*Star_, that wasn't the middle of my face. Would you like me to show you the middle of _your_ face?"

"Three-against-one is great odds for a man like me. Bring it on!"

"Look, sis is going purple!"

_To be the most economical with a large group during such a long trip, it is wise to use one vehicle where possible for a group. An SUV is capable of carrying seven, although if they are all at average height or above average weight, this may make the car crowded. _

"That's a better look for you, Grandma!"

"Why, you son of a bitch . . ."

"Liz, your soda just went in my hair!"

"Those pigtails are asymmetrical anyway, it would be better to re-tie your hair."

"Are you aiming for a punch, too?"

"I was just punched by Black*Star!"

_When Ox, Kilik, Harvar, Kim, Jackie and the Pots offer to take luggage in the back of their car so as to use less cars, this results in the other half of Spartoi being crammed into one car. This is a bad idea, especially when Black*Star will be confined to a small space with small amounts of entertainment for a long period of time._

"She just knows that she can't take me on!"

"Oh, is that so . . ."

"Hey, no, don't swing that, careful!"

"Maka _Chop!"_

Soul winces as if the book is making contact with his own skull, watching Black*Star collapse against the dashboard. After Liz begins to curse missing her own chance to hit the blue-haired ninja and Tsubaki checks him for injuries, the car swerving horribly as she looks away from the road, he sighs and shrugs his headphones back over his ears. He's been trying this technique for the last hour and a half – _block out the noise, close your eyes, pretend a murder isn't close to being committed beside you_ – but it doesn't work. Even his punk albums don't cover over the sound of Patti's constant giggling, or Black*Star's frankly _awful _renditions of the Twelve Days of Christmas. His irritation is not helped by the fact that Maka is ready to blow a gasket and her own emotions tend to flood and mix with his in a current of constant resonance.

_Why,_ he thinks as he watches a car drive past, the driver looking content and calm compared to this racket and chaos, _did I agree to this?_

He'd like to say he doesn't know, but that would be lying. Of course he knows. It's that reason, the same reason he always does things that he doesn't want to because they aren't cool or he's too lazy. He's a complete pushover, and he knows it – because she is his reason. Maka Albarn, sitting on the other side of the middle row of seats, her face in a scowl as she reprimands Kid for insulting her hair. She had wanted to go on this trip. She had helped to form the idea. Of course he's here, wedged into the space between Kid and the window of the car, because she wants him to be.

At first, he'd flat-out refused. He had to spend every Christmas at an expensive Colorado ski lodge because of Wes when he was younger, and Maka _knows_ that. He wasn't going to make some shitty car trip with four days to go until Christmas just because Black*Star had the urge to show off his snowboarding skills and combat Kid's talent with a skateboard. He'd told her that, almost in that exact wording, and from the look she'd given him, he'd thought she'd understood and accepted it.

He should have known better. It's as if he doesn't know her at all.

Over the next week, his friends had petitioned him to go. He'd said that they could all go, and he'd stay, no problem – a _few days away from everyone before Christmas might even be relaxing_, he'd said. But no, they hadn't accepted that. They'd developed the notion, Tsubaki especially, of everyone being sentimental and sappy and going to spend some time in the snow before the holidays ended. Liz and Patti had never gone skiing, Kid had been stressed at work, Black*Star was petitioning, Maka lived in a desert and was yearning to live out her 'white Christmas' fantasies – but still, he'd declined the invitation.

And then she had unleashed her attack.

She'd set it up well; he'd never even seen it coming. Maka had started to behave kindly to him, but only in small amounts – reducing Maka Chops, cooking when it was his turn, generally snapping less. He'd accepted these changes with some small suspicion, but it had been easy to blame her good mood on the festive cheer.

She's as much of a Christmas person as he is a Grinch.

Then, she'd taken to looking slightly down whenever she spoke to him. He'd been concerned, but she'd brushed it off with a small smile, saying it was nothing.

Two rounds to her – he didn't suspect her motives until it was too late.

They were watching a movie one night, some Johnny-Depp-drama, and she gave a sigh. Just a small, sad, sigh. One small, sad, devious, cunning sigh. He'd fallen for it straight away, being the caring and protective sap he was when it came to her. When he'd asked what was wrong, she'd said just two lines.

_"I can't remember the last time I went to the snow with my mother. Oh well."_

Hook, line, and sinker. She'd gotten him, in that way she always did, and from that little sigh onwards, he'd been like pitifully obedient putty in her manipulative gloved hands.

Now he's sitting here, trying to listen to Matchbox Twenty rather than the antics of his friends, and glaring at Maka with such force that if she were a tree, he wouldn't have had to so much as pick up an axe to chop her down. But she isn't looking at him, she's consulting a map to give Tsubaki directions, so his efforts are wasted yet again. They're always wasted when he's looking at her, probably because she doesn't feel the need to look back. Unrequited feelings are bitches like that, just ask him.

"All right, so you need to take the _exit 56_ for _US-50 W/US-89 N/I-70 BUS_ towards Salina," she says, peering at the small block font of the map.

"The exit for _what?_"

"Exit 56, towards Salina."

"How far away is that?"

"Uh – where are we now?"

"Take that exit," Soul simplifies blankly, leaning forward so that his arm is beside Tsubaki's head and pointing where he knows will be visible for her. She nods and thanks him, turning and narrowly avoiding a blue car driven by a seventeen-year-old who flips them off while she chats animatedly on her mobile phone.

Maka crosses her arms. "How come you know the directions without using a map?"

"Trust me, eight years of concerts and tours, and you learn the Interstate like a pro," he mutters in reply, giving up on using his headphones and letting them slide back down onto his neck. At least they provide a little bit of warmth – it's freezing outside and he still feels the chill from the snow. It had been far worse this morning when they'd left, unsurprising as it was eight-thirty in the morning. Maybe that's why everybody's feeling so irritable. They'd all woken up early this morning in order to set off for Death City with time left to spare for the evening. It would be no good to get home late – they'd miss the start of Christmas.

Then again, they don't really need more of a reason to be in a bad mood with one another. They're about halfway through their distance, and seven of them are crammed into one car with nothing but each other and whatever entertainment they have on them for a good deal of hours to come. Add Black*Star into the mix, and it's practically a request for them to go _Hunger Games_ on each other and see who emerges alive to drive the rest of the way back to Death City.

_Why_ did he agree to this, again?

Right. Maka. Damn him and his pushover-qualities, his inability to cause her true pain, his stupid love and all of that other junk she can hold over him. If she only knew the half of it, he might just end up being her slave for the rest of eternity. She has him wrapped around her little finger – she just needs to figure that out.

"Would you mind turning the heat up a little?" Kid enquires, rearranging his posture in such a way as to jostle Soul's arm and make him drop his iPhone, and make Maka lose her page. "It feels like death back here."

Liz scowls. She and Patti are at the very rear of the car, fitted snugly into the two small seats that fold down from the boot. "That better not have been a pun. And besides, at least you have leg-room."

This makes Patti frown and enquire whether she doesn't want to be crammed in the back with her. Liz is quick to deny anything of the kind, and then Kid joins in, pointing out that the elder Thompson volunteered to sit in the back. She defends this by stating that she'd wanted to sit in the middle row, where he, Soul and Maka are.

"But of course I couldn't have that seat," she says through gritted teeth, "because _you_ had to sit there, because it's the _middle _seat of the car."

The Shinigami nods, a smile on his face, and Soul fights the urge to face-palm, knowing that his friend is about to say something extremely stupid. And he's not disappointed. "I'm glad you understand. See, Patti, she has no problem with accepting a seat with you as a second resort!"

"S-second result? So she doesn't want to sit with me?" Patti's eyes fill almost instantly.

_Wham_. Liz's fist connects with the back of Kid's head, and he slumps forward until his forehead strikes the arm-rest of the front seats. Black*Star, who is occupying this now that he has regained the ability to think again, merely looks down at the Death God's head, shrugs, and adjusts himself so that his forearm is pressing his face further into the black upholstery.

Maka rolls her eyes and balances her book on Kid's spine as she pulls the map back out, smoothing it over her legs. "Okay, Tsubaki, there's a turn on the right coming up. We're looking for the _US-50 W/US-89 N/S State Street_."

"Why," moans the older girl as she flips on her indicator way too early, "does the map have to have so many letters in each direction?"

"It's right there," the Death Scythe supplies, and the Japanese girl hisses when she realises that she's practically missed the turn already. She yanks the wheel, hard, and everyone gives out a collective cry as they fall sideways. Tsubaki swerves the tail of the car to avoid a bike-rider, flattening her foot on the accelerator momentarily, before carrying on and looking for _W Main Street_, their next turn, all with a completely calm and regular half-smile on her face.

It is silent for about ten seconds in which everyone stares at Tsubaki in surprise. The only sounds are those of the group's heavy breathing, the rustle as Maka rights the map once more, and the low moan from Kid as his pain breaches his semi-unconscious state.

And then;

"_ – Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a Death Scythe in a pear tree!"_

"_Black*Star!"_

Halfway there, halfway to go, and if Soul survives this car trip, he's going to vow to never use a vehicle other than his orange _Road King _again. At least then he can't hear what's happening beside him, and there's no way that Black*Star's giant head could fit on the back of it.

Well, it might now, seeing as Maka has dinted it yet again and is wiping the spine of her book clean of any stray flecks of blood.

He wisely decides that now is a good time to put his headphones back on.

* * *

"He's _totally _going to ask you out," Liz says with a grin, leaning forward over Maka's headrest so that she can talk to her properly. "I bet you fifty Death-Dollars he will."

Kid – who is now lucid again after roughly one hundred and eighty miles and yet another round of everyone trying to hit Black*Star – gives a derisive snort. "Let me guess. That's fifty of _my_ Death-Dollars you're betting isn't it?"

"Hey, I have my own money pile," the elder Thompson defends quickly. After one glance from her meister, her face breaks out into a sheepish smile. "But yeah, it'll probably come out of your already far-too-inflated account."

Soul isn't paying attention to the conversation – well, not really, despite the fact that he's listening. He has his eyes closed and his head is leaning back on the head rest, but he isn't really asleep. He's more concerned with Maka's reactions to what Liz is saying. He can see her if he just cracks his lashes, and he can hear her perfectly clear. As well as this, he can feel that slight prod on the end of their link that tells him her general mood. Right now, she is depressingly . . . unperturbed.

"He won't ask me out," she says in an even voice, her eyes staying fixed to her page as she reads from _Jane Austen's Collective Works_. The book is thick and heavy – he remembers a slight black-out the first time that one hit him on the head. "You should keep your money."

"Why don't you think he will?"

"Because he doesn't like girls like me, and besides, he's too – well, too _nice_."

"What do you mean?" Liz asks, frowning at the meister's self-deprecating comment.

"He likes tall girls," Maka says after a moment's thought, "and curvy girls." Her wavelength gives the slightest twitch of irritation as she speaks. "But he doesn't hold that against a girl, which means he would technically date me anyway, if he liked me – which he _doesn't_. Still, though, he's too nice for me. The guy just agrees with everything I say, and he's always trying to make sure that I'm happy, rather than generally having a good time, whenever I talk to him. So he's too nice, and if by chance he _does_ ask me out despite knowing that I don't like him that way, I'll reject him."

The other blonde's mouth is now hanging open. "So he treats you like a princess and you don't _want_ him?"

"Pretty much. That kind of relationship would just get boring in the long run."

"Oh, you like a guy with more spark? I know what kind of guy _you_ like," Liz almost purrs, making Kid chuckle. Soul wishes he could open his eyes and see her face at this point, because Maka's emotions are doing this odd spasm and he's interested to see where this is going – or, more like, see how angry and depressed he needs to get when he stares at his ceiling at night, because the guy Maka likes will be nothing like him. However, before he can sneak a peek, his meister gives a sharp growl.

"Liz, shut _up_."

"Why? Kid probably already knows who it is anyway, so it isn't going to matter if he overhears it."

"Of course I know," the Shinigami seconds, and he feels his teeth grind together in frustration and shock. _Kid_ knows who his meister likes, and he hasn't told him? Oh, that is _so_ going to be a deduction on the bro-card. And here he thought the black-haired boy was his friend.

"It's not Kid I'm worried about."

"Black*Star's not paying attention – I think he and Tsubaki are playing I-Spy or something."

Patti giggles. "I bet he can't think of anything but a tree for his turn!"

Soul turns his head fractionally and hears the meister in question say, "I Spy something beginning with . . . uh . . . T." He has to fight the grin from his face.

Maka recaptures his attention – as always – when she mutters, "That guy would be too thick to work out what we're talking about, anyway. But Soul isn't, and if _he_ finds out, I'm never going to hear the end of it, am I?"

He can hear by that last bit that she's addressing the question to him, and smirks despite himself. Of course she knows when he's awake – Soul Perception aside, she knows him too well. Liz, however, is confused. "What are you talking about, Maka? He's asleep – I wouldn't have said anything if he wasn't!"

"He isn't asleep," the pigtailed girl says with confidence. "Trust me. He just can't be bothered to move."

"Prove it."

Soul can feel Maka's smugness as she says innocently, "Soul?"

Instead of answering, he opens his eyes and flicks them over to her, pretending that he hasn't been listening to their conversation and is now enquiring about what she wants. She grins at the older Thompson, whose jaw slackens.

"No way!" she shrieks. "That's so creepy – I seriously thought you were asleep!"

"I don't sleep in moving vehicles."

"Humph," she replies, crossing her arms. "Eavesdropper."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

_"Are too!"_

Maka makes a noise of irritation. "Quit it, will you? I swear to Death, if we keep fighting, we aren't going to all make it back to Nevada alive."

"But I thought you liked guys who argued with you?" Patti says innocently, and Soul fights to keep the surprise off of his face. "Isn't that what you said, sis?"

Surprisingly, Liz is glancing fearfully and apologetically at Maka, who is glaring back at her. Something's up. "Um, not really, Pat, that wasn't what I meant – she just likes arguing with the _one_ guy . . . Shit, I mean - !"

But the shorter blonde's blue eyes widen in understanding, and she flings her arm out to point to Soul, to his shock. "Like how she fights with him, then?"

He opens his mouth, about to ask why Maka is blushing so much and now threatening to strangle Liz over the seat, but before anyone can utter another word, Kid jabs his finger out the window and says, "Look, Patti, isn't that car nice? I think _we_ should get a yellow car. It's a little bit ostentatious, but you could paint it so that it resembles a giraffe!"

Patti instantly turns and gazes at the car in question, which is a bright sunshine colour, her eyes the size of dinner plates. She nods enthusiastically and begins to prattle to Liz about how _cool_ a giraffe-car would be, and Maka shoots Kid a grateful look which he nods at. Strange. He can't help but feel that maybe the three of them know something that they are trying to keep from him. Yes, that's definitely it – that's why they keep sending each other covert glances.

_Well, that's just fucking peachy,_ he thinks grumpily, turning away from the excitement and crossing his arms. It's Christmas Eve, and Maka's letting other people in on a secret before him. Her, the hypocrite who consistently tells him how important it is to be open and honest with each other. _It helps to keep our wavelengths resonating healthily, Soul!_ Huh. What a load of bullshit.

He's gripped by the desire to have something distracting to think about, instead of the inside-joke that he's supposedly being excluded from. "Hey, Tsubaki," he asks, "you want a break from driving for a while? You gotta' change over soon anyway, and I know where I'm going for when we have to exit the _US-50 W_."

The Japanese girl nods gratefully and he can see just how tired she is by the way she grips the steering wheel, exasperatedly shaking her head as Black*Star guesses ridiculous things for her turn in _I-Spy_. She promises to pull over at the first opportunity so they can swap and he leans back in his seat, satisfied.

"Hey, Kid!" Patti is saying excitedly, pulling on his shoulder around his headrest. "Do you think I could get one of those cars for Christmas, a giraffe one?"

"Hm? I don't see why not. Make sure to remind me, and I'll buy you one, if it's what you really want. But if you get that, then it will be the only gift, for cars aren't cheap with custom paint-jobs."

"You don't need to get it for me, silly!" she reprimands, swatting at the side of his head, "Santa will! I'll ask Santa for a car for Christmas!"

"Don't be ludicrous, Patti, everybody knows that Santa Claus isn't real," the Shinigami says, and even Black*Star goes silent. Maka and Soul make eye contact over the black-haired boy's turned head, her green eyes wide and his mouth open. He had _not_ just told the young girl what they thought he had, right? Because if so . . .

Sure enough, Patti's blue eyes instantly fill with tears and she gasps, her hands clenching into fists. "_What?"_

" . . . Tsubaki, my turn to drive now."

* * *

The atmosphere in the car is very different now. It has been since the car followed the _US-50 W_ into Nevada with Kid knocked unconscious for the second time. Soul shudders slightly as he re-thinks over the brutality of Patti's punch, and he is very glad that he is driving now, rather than in the backseat. Black*Star is sitting behind him, on the verge of sleep but grinning as he messes with the buttons on the Shinigami's jacket and the strands of his hair to make him as asymmetrical as possible upon waking. He and Tsubaki have switched with Soul and Maka, as the blonde meister was just as keen to escape the youngest Thompson's wrath.

"How much further is it now?" Maka asks wearily, having put away the map as Soul knows where he is going well enough not to need constant directions. She is eager to be home, and he cannot blame her. They have all been in this car for almost half a day, and it is severely taking its toll. Night has fallen outside and both Patti and Tsubaki are unsurprisingly asleep, the former from crying and the latter from driving for so long. Liz is nodding off, too.

"Well," he replies, sighing, "we have about twenty miles left on the _Grand Army of the Republic_ Highway, and after then, it's about seventy-five miles or so until we get to Death City."

"Do you know where you have to turn off the highway, or do I need to get the map?"

"We're looking for the Hot Creek Road turn off. Don't worry, I got this. Kid makes me drive the bike a lot when I'm going anywhere for a conference with the Witches' Panel."

"Hum," she agrees sleepily, pulling up her legs and settling her small frame into the front seat, snuggling herself into her jacket. "As much as I loved seeing the snow, I'll definitely be glad to get home before Christmas."

He agrees wholeheartedly. Fun trips and car trips are just not synonymous. "What time do you think your father's going to be coming over? I gotta' be awake, because the last time he was at the apartment while I wasn't, he tried to burn half of my stuff and ended up coming into my room in search of Blair." He shudders at the memory, the way Maka had Chopped her father with more ferocity than the human skull should be able to endure.

"I don't know. I insisted on going to _his_ place for Christmas, so he doesn't end up doing something stupid in the same place as all of our belongings, but he's adamant on coming over. I _still_ don't think he's over the fact that I live with a guy." She chuckles at this, as if laughing at her father for even supposing that Soul would ever do anything to her, and he grins, too. Then again, the old man is right – as if he'd _ever_ have the balls to do so much as kiss her, let alone what that old pervert surely has in mind. "Apparently he's convinced that he's going to take me out to dinner at my favourite restaurant or something."

"Ah, the old family holiday tradition of the Christmas dinner. If you go, then you'll get some prime-ass food from his bank account, but then you have to weigh up the pros and cons of spending an entire night with him, in public."

He expects her to laugh, but she doesn't. When he takes his eyes off of the road and glances at her, she's looking at him with a frown. Crap, he hasn't offended her, has he? They make jokes about her father all the time; he knows that she loves him, but she also loves to loathe him. Then again, maybe it's only okay for _her_ to bag out on him. No, that can't be right, because they do it all the time . . . "What?"

"Doesn't it make you sad at all? Surely it's got to be a _little bit_ upsetting, no matter how much you shrug it off?"

"You're doing that thing again," he mutters exasperatedly, "where _you_ know exactly what you're talking about, and the rest of the world has absolutely no idea and thinks you're on crack."

She swats his arm for the last part of his comment, but her expression does not lighten. "I mean, you said that having dinner together is an '_old family holiday tradition_.'"

"Yeah?"

" . . . But _your_ family never forces you to have dinner with them. They never even _call_."

The safe territory of their conversation, declining slowly since her serious face, suddenly drops off of a cliff into deep, insecure waters, and Soul finds himself staring straight ahead at the road once more. These are the things that she just doesn't understand and he doesn't like to talk about. He wishes he could be more open with her whenever she brings up his family, because he knows it probably hurts to be shut out by him so much, but he can't bring himself to face her and give a proper reply to her almost-question. So instead, he clenches the wheel and says in a blank voice, "You don't see your mother on Christmas. What's the difference?"

Maka flinches and he regrets the words almost instantly, knowing that he's just punched a nerve. But she still replies in a quiet voice, "I know that _I'm_ not the reason why Mama doesn't come back to Death City to see me. She still can't forgive Papa for what he did, and I don't blame her. But you . . . it's like you don't miss them at all."

"I don't."

"How can you not?" she asks, her legs unfurling as she turns to face him fully. He still does not look at her. He still can't. "They're your family. I know you never got along with your dad very well, and your mum had a big fight with you before you left for Death City . . ." _That's a touchy subject_, he thinks, bristling slightly, ". . . but what about your brother? What about Wes?"

"What about him?" he bites back, gripping the steering wheel tighter. This is something that nags at him in the holiday season – his complete lack of contact with his family. Black*Star and the Thompsons don't have much of an issue as they are no longer a part of their original families, but they still bond with their close friends and those who look over them parentally – in the Thompsons' case, Kid and their friend 'the Master', who runs_ Deathbucks_; in Black*Star's,  
Tsubaki and her family. The ninja weapon often visits Japan at Christmas, having become accustomed to American traditions. Maka is forced into being with her papa, and her mother calls her on Christmas day, sending gifts in the mail. There is always a sense of connection, a sense of being with loved ones.

And then there is him. He is cut off, distant. Sure, he enjoys being with his friends, Maka, even _Blair_ on Christmas Day. They're his family as far as he's concerned. But it's different with him, compared to his friends. They don't know much about his family – in fact, they probably don't even know that he has a brother. But Maka does. Maka knows about his family after all of these years of partnership, and she knows that on Christmas, he neither gives them anything nor receives anything. There is no letter in the mail that is slightly late. There is no phone call, or gift on the doorstep. There is certainly no visit. It is almost like he is an orphan, or like his family doesn't exist. She's always been puzzled about this, he knows, because apart from his mother, he hadn't really left the Evans family on bad terms. And he _does_ love Wes, she can tell.

And yet.

"Even if your parents are _too busy_ to give you anything, like you always say they are," she states now, giving him a look that clearly says she doesn't believe that, "Wes would surely make an effort. You tell me that he cared about you when you were little, and I _know_ you have to at least love him a tiny bit, even if you won't say anything and just disagree with me. So, why doesn't he?"

Soul does not want to say anything in reply to this. The thought of what he's done, what his family are like, and the thought of _Wes_ hurts more than ripping off a band-aid with a particularly gruesome injury underneath. Maka will think badly of him if he tells her. She knows him this well, but he also knows her well enough to be able to tell that she'll be disappointed in him. So instead, he scowls and accelerates, overtaking a red car and taking out his frustration on driving. He's exceedingly glad that Black*Star has fallen asleep now, his heavy breathing and soft snores audible from the back seat.

Maka eyes him for another minute, biting her lip, and then slumps back against her seat. She's already disappointed in him, he notes, and he hasn't even said anything. _That's_ why she's upset. She wants to know, she has the right to know, but he's just too tight-lipped to say anything. And now he feels like shit because it's Christmas tomorrow and he's being a dick when she's already tired and just wanting to get home.

So he mans up slightly, takes a calming breath, and after ten minutes of awkward silence, says, "They can't send me anything, because they don't know how."

Her head turns so fast he's worried it'll fall off of her neck and she gazes at him with wide eyes, shocked that he'd spoken. He _never_ lets her broach these subjects. Then again, that's because he can escape by going for a bike ride or simply walking away when she gets too curious and close for his comfort whenever she usually attacks. But he can't now – they're stuck in this big metal box together with many miles left to drive before they get home. Her mouth is slightly open and her brow creased, but she says nothing in the fear of him changing his mind and keeping his mouth shut.

But he won't. He owes her this much. "When I left, I . . . didn't give my parents any way to talk to me. I didn't want them to be able to get a hold of me until I was sure that being a weapon wasn't another thing I would fuck up. I got a new mobile and a new number, and although I promised to write and tell them my home address in case they ever needed it, I didn't. They know I'm in Death City and that I go to Shibusen; that's obvious. But they can't call Kid through the mirror to ask about me – they're too normal. They don't know that it's even possible, let alone that they could do it. Knowing them, Dad especially, they're probably too proud to send a message to the school in the hopes that I get it. I think they're waiting for me to talk to them first, before they'll write to me. They're stubborn."

"Says you," she mutters under her breath, but there's something in her eyes that he hadn't expected to see. She looks . . . sad, yet happy. Maka is obviously thrilled that he's being so open with her, but she's also upset, as if this knowledge is tragic in some way. He under the impression that she'd be reprimanding him by now for his cowardice in avoiding the Evans', not seemingly as if she pitied and understood his actions. "So, it's not that they don't want to see you – it's that you don't want to see them."

"Not entirely. I wrote down Wes' number, before I ditched my old phone and contacts. But . . . I lost it. I dropped the piece of paper and it was raining, and it was gone. I've been able to talk to him through email a few times but I don't want my parents to know that he's got contact. So, we tend to only send through a message once in a really long while. Don't want to be suspicious. But, that's that, I guess; they threw me away, out of the family, out of their hearts. As far as Christmas goes, I'm an orphan, and they only have one son." His voice is incredibly bitter by the end of his short speech and one of his hands is clenched in a fist on his lap as he drives. There – he's told her, now the cards can fall where they may.

She isn't saying anything, and he takes that as a bad sign. Great – he's ruined Christmas. She's probably going to use that quick brain of hers and develop a theory that if he can cut ties with his family so easily, he can with her. Then she'll start to doubt her ability to trust such an icicle of a guy, and fret over him abandoning her yet again. Like he could – he's far too deep in his muddled love for her to think of being away from her for more than a weekend, let alone the amount of years since he's seen his parents. If only he could be a man and just _tell_ her that, if only she wouldn't flat-out reject him on the spot, if only . . .

He's infinitely surprised for what feels like the fiftieth time this car trip when he feels her small hands wrap around his on his knee. He doesn't take his eyes off the road, not trusting himself to look at her without getting distracted and accidentally driving the car straight off of the road and killing them all. Well, _that_ would be a fun Christmas.

Maka coaxes his hand out of a fist and then pulls it towards her, wrapping her hand around him and leaning into her seat. She has a small, sad smile on her face as she looks at him. "Don't be stupid, Soul."

"Huh?"

"Nobody could ever want to throw you away." She takes his hand fully and leans against the seat. He has nothing to say. What can he say to that? Can she really mean it? He doesn't want to let himself hope too much, because it's when she says things like this that he really starts to fall dangerously. After a few seconds she yawns widely. "Thanks for telling me – it's not like you. Maybe we should do car trips more often."

Soul gives a short laugh at this. "Only if you promise to kill me five minutes in, _before_ the carols start."

"Deal."

And then he makes the mistake of looking over at her. Her green eyes are on his face, connected with his own, and he's glad he's on a straight stretch of land because he doesn't think he can steer, not when they're just gazing at each other and their link is humming with something unexpected that he can't quite name but likes the feeling of. . .

"_Geez, get a room! _There are other people in the car, you know, and if you two are gonna' start making out and crash, then let Tsubaki or Kid drive._"_

Apparently Black*Star is _not _asleep anymore.

And Soul is glad when Maka squeals and reaches across to steady the wheel as he manifests his scythe blade from one arm and tries to throw the assassin meister out the car window.

Sure, it's Christmas, but he's a bit of a Grinch anyway, and _one _murder can't hurt, right?

* * *

By the time they finally arrive back at Death City, Christmas is scarcely more than an hour and a half away. They all part ways, trudging home sleepily to collapse with barely a thought of the oncoming gifts and holiday in their head.

Soul and Maka, too exhausted to even bother with getting ready for bed, simply collapse on the couch in one moment and fall into unconsciousness in the next, both comforted by each other's warmth and the mutual trust that hums along their link like a strum on a guitar. There is also that other emotion, the one they aren't examining yet, and it soothes, calms, and brings a smile to their faces as they sleep.

Only to be awoken at nine o' clock on Christmas morning by one shouting Spirit Albarn, who had been let in by Blair to wish his daughter a Merry Christmas and been instead greeted by the sight of her sleeping against the teenage boy that she lives with, a boy that the Death Scythe _knows_ has feelings for his daughter, a boy who currently has his arm wrapped around her waist loosely and his cheek resting against the top of her head.

Maybe Soul _will_ get his Christmas murder, after all. Well, it's better this way than death by Black*Star-singing-Christmas-carols, right?

* * *

**Merry Christmas!**

**I'm aware that this is late but I'm sick and have worked a lot in the last week, sorry!**

**I've never been to America, let alone made a trip between Vail, Colorado and Death City, Nevada. I researched the trip and the way to get from here to there, but I'm sorry if any language was wrong (i.e. calling it the ****_US-50 W_**** if there's a slang name, or writing the whole name, even though that was what I thought Maka would do reading from a map).**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


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